A poem a day is the poet way!

Iowa

Escape was always possible in the same way I thought life would go on forever, like the corn field I could never find the edge of. The sky which flew over the tops of trees and weighed day down. The sun which knifed our eyes. The tree house too tall which threatened to consume me. I ran all the way home. He was the little pig. When dark invisibled our skin we drank in the air. How the fireflies inhabited the night. The whir of the fan. The windows let in storm. I had a little lamp that I kept off. I hid it from myself. The words would not unknot themselves.